


All about Marilyn

by aliciawillromance



Category: Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciawillromance/pseuds/aliciawillromance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title itself gives away, it might contain spoilers (but more speculations) for season 5. A series of oneshots involving the new character of Marilyn. Chapter 1 (A/P): You can be the moon and still be jealous of the stars...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of moon and stars (Alicia & Peter)

_§ You can be the moon and still be jealous of the stars - Gary Allan §_

* * *

_  
_  


Alicia wakes up in a cold sweat.

_That nightmare again._

Every time she closes her eyes, that blonde haired silhouette appears in front of her, haunting her in her sleep. She has met Peter's new in-house ethics advisor on a few occasions and every single time she felt an undefined discomfort, a bleary feeling of apprehension, aversion, distaste, an unspoken hostility-like attitude. The classic cocks of the walk, just in skirt and high heeled shoes. And her name… Marilyn. The day she was hired was the day she heard for the very first time the not-so-subtle reference to JKF. It's sickening. It's like watching a bad movie remake of her life. She feels like a passive watcher, as the young woman starts to spend more and more time with Peter, working late hours, even joined him for a couple of weekends in Springfield.

There is a book she loved whilst at school,  _Chronicle of a Death Foretold_. Her marriage is like Santiago Nasar, foretold victim of the cruel assassination. Everyone knows it will happen. At least she does and it's more than enough. If her past naivety and blind trust has taught her anything, it's to read signs, gestures, looks, to never give anything – or take anyone - for granted, first and foremost your husband.

_Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me…_

This morning, she has decided that shame won't fall on her. There won't be any more scandals because in one way or another, she is going to prevent it. Resolute like never before, she has decided to face him. He is the one who proposed to remarry, to renew their vows. Where is the sense in that? He promised never to hurt her again, and here he is again.

She turns to his side of the bed, instinctively, even if she knows he has already left. The good morning kiss he gave her in her half-sleep is still imprinted on her lips. She sighs deeply and fights against the nauseating twists of her stomach to stand up. Catapulted back five years in time; it isn't a pleasurable feeling.

It's even less pleasurable when that same night she walks inside the James R Thompson Center building and into the small conference room to attend Peter's press conference. She looks around, a bit disturbed by the excessive presence of journalists; she was expecting a narrower audience. But in the general mess, she manages to spot Peter on the opposite wall. He looks quiet, yet a bit on his toes. He glances around, as if looking for someone and his face brightens in a broad smile when he meets her eyes. She smiles back, lightly biting her lower lip in discomfort. She's striving to hide her upheaval, for it's certainly not the right moment, even less the right place. At the same time, she knows that smile enough to know that it's authentic. Peter's smile never lies. After hundreds of everything-will-be-fine contrived smiles, she has learned to recognize the light wrinkle that unmasks his fake ones. For a moment she thinks that she's crazy, that the signs she seems to be catching are in reality a figment of her imagination. For a moment. Till Marilyn walks in and she has to look away in front of the disquieting picture.

Someone invites everyone to be quiet as lights go down in the room, except a single one spotlighting Peter. She tries to concentrate on his words, her gaze fixed on his lips but apparently her mind has its own will, projecting in front of her the unpleasant conversation that should follow. She tries to catch the answers to questions that she has barely heard once before. He always used to ask for her advice, he always used to work his answers together with her. The fact that this time he didn't makes her feel left aside. When did her advisory opinion lose its value? Useless question. She already knows the answer. It's blond, young and right now it's standing a few steps from Peter, mouthing the answers with him. Her instinct prevails and makes her leave the room before she implodes. The strong light seeping through the glass-walled building dazzles her, till her eyes slowly manage to adjust to it. One deep breath, she leans against the banister and looks down at the comings and goings. It takes her a while but eventually she calms down. She doesn't know how long she's been there, but at some point she hears the door getting opened behind her and the first journalists leave in a random, chaotic chatter. Mustering some strength to remain quiet, she starts to walk in but she has barely reached the door when she nearly bumps into  _her_.

"Mrs. Florrick!" Marilyn acknowledges her with a wide smile. "I didn't see you inside, Peter floored them all! One of his best press conferences since his appointment," she observes with a decided nod. "You should be proud of what he's doing!" That woman's enthusiasm would be overwhelming if she weren't too engaged in hating her. Proud of what exactly? She doesn't recall having even the most insignificant part in it, or in anything else since the day Peter was elected.

"I am," she somewhat accomplishes to say with her perfected press-dedicated smile, then quickly dodges her and walks back in. That's the longest conversation she can stand with her.

The room is still in the dark, but Peter's and Eli's voices guide her in the dim light.

"Alicia!" Peter's welcome is warm and loving. She feels his hand on hers, pulling her closer so he can place a delicate kiss on her lips.

Eli's phone rings.

_Perfect timing. Or not?_

"Mr. Thorpe, sure, what can I do for you?" He says out loud as he excuses himself with a light gesture and starts to walk away.

"So…" Peter starts. He's serious, but seems somewhat oblivious to everything that's going on. "The press conference went beyond any possible expectation…"

Alicia nods. She doesn't know if he saw her leaving or not and doesn't dare to say anything.

"But you don't know it of course because you left…"

She freezes. Okay, he definitely saw her leaving. She looks down, uncomfortable, knowing it's the right moment but she has no idea how to even begin such a conversation in a way that doesn't sound like a straight accusation. "I… There was too much of a crowd, I was getting claustrophobic."

When she finds the strength to look back up, Peter's delusion is etched on his face.

"What's wrong?" His question is damn complicated in its short simplicity.

"Nothing…" She shrugs. What has just happened to hours repeating her little speech?

"Alicia…" He doesn't need to add anything. When he pronounces her name like that it's never a good sign. Peter doesn't like to play hide and seek.

She closes her eyes and looks down. "Is there something I should know?" She finally whispers. Her gaze down, she can't force herself to read the truth in his eyes.

"Something… what?" He sounds confused, and she doesn't know if he's really unaware or just playing the politician with her.

Still, she can't look up. She stares blankly into the distance, forcing herself to visualize something, anything that doesn't include the image of that woman.

"Something… Marilyn…" She says, making sure he knows what all of this is about. She instinctively closes her eyes. Afraid of… what? His reaction? The truth? A lie? An admission?

Peter's silence is chilling. She has no idea how to take it. But his deep sigh doesn't forewarn anything good.

"I don't know what's crossing your mind but if you think that there is  _something_  going on, you couldn't be any more wrong…" He says. His quiet, almost soothing voice doesn't hide some annoyance. And right now, she can't distinguish anymore whether he's lying or not. She only knows that she's afraid.

"Then fire her…" She looks up, faking a confidence and a resolution that got lost between the morning and the unwelcome meeting outside that door.

"What?" Peter stares at her in what looks like plain disbelief.

"Fire her," she repeats, very quietly.

He doesn't answer. For a moment, he just stares at her and she's already fearing the worst. "No."

She wasn't certainly hoping for a different answer – or was she? - but his tone is more resolute than what she was expecting. "Why?"

"Be… because…" He hesitates, stumbling on his words.

And she just feels worse. Peter doesn't stumble on his words, he is trained by years of press conferences and interviews. He always has the right words to say. But now he's faltering and she's only surer that he's working out a perfect lie.

"Because she's great at her job! One of the best ethics advisors in the Eastern half of the United States! And because she gets along well with Eli, actually it's the first time I see someone from my staff getting along with him at all. I have a great team, Alicia, and I'm not giving up on it for an unjustified jealousy!" He exclaims.

" And you expect me to trust you?" She knows that disbelief is etched all over her face but right now she doesn't care. She came here to find an answer to all her nightmares and she's not leaving without it.

"Yes! Because if you don't… then it makes no sense for you to be still here." Peter's tone lowers but the disappointment and the resignation in it certainly doesn't.

 _It makes no sense for you to be still here… So this is it…_ "Don't try and trick me into leaving when this is exactly what you want."

"What?"

"You want me to trust you… good, show it!" She spit in anger. And it's in that moment that she realizes what the real problem is…  _Trust…_

She observes Peter as he opens his mouth.

She knows he wants to say something, but instead he just looks away for a moment, shaking his head.

"In which way if I don't know what the problem is with you?"

_It's all wrong. This is all wrong._

This is all but what she had pictured their conversation to be.

"The problem is not me! The problem is you leaving me aside for her!" She thought she was stronger, she thought at this point she was perfectly capable to control her feelings, her fears, her jealousy.

But if Peter's silence and shocked face are a hint, she knows that she's failing. And rather miserably.

"I… I'm not leaving you aside…" He manages to mutter, eventually.

"Yes you are, Peter!" She feels tears forming in her eyes and fights with all her self-control to hold them back. The last thing she wants is for him to see her cry again. "You barely told me about this press conference," she gestures erratically at the few cameras still in the room, "while you once used to search for my advice… if… if you don't need your wife anymore you might as well say it now because I won't sit down here watching as our marriage gets buried..."

"Okay…" Peter starts, he inhales deeply in a clear attempt to keep his cool. "I don't know what the hell is crossing your mind right now, but one thing is sure. Marilyn is not burying anything! If I didn't ask your advice it's only because I thought you needed time to settle in with your new firm. You are working so many late hours and I see how tired you are when you come home at night, I just didn't want to lay more work and responsibilities on you." His tone softens.

And she's left to question if all her fears are really all just that. Nonexistent fears, threats created by her own mind. But his words kind of hit her. She stares at him, unbelievably. "W… what? Since when has this become a responsibility? We used to be a team, Peter, and a good one! What you think is  _work_ , for me it's the happiness of sharing a bit of your success with you, it's my own way to show you that I care, that I believe in you and in what you do, that your ideals are still mine as well!"

"Why… why didn't you just tell me?" He opens his arms in puzzlement.

"Because whenever there is the occasion, that woman pops out!" She can taste the salt of a tear on her lips and hastens to wipe her eyes before it's too late. She can't lose control. Not now. And it's not an easy thing to do as Peter walks back and forth in front of her. And when he finally stops again, she's not sure whether she's relieved or just unconsciously preparing for the final round.

"I made the promise never to hurt you again, Alicia… and… and I really meant it. And you know it too or you wouldn't have said yes that night. And damn, with my ethics advisor! She's supposed to make my office clean, not drag me into the dirt, and that's what we are doing together with Eli," he says, almost without catching a breath. "You worry about the press? "

_Of course she does… She always did._

"It will never be over Alicia, it'll never be. And so far we have always tried to handle it together. They will always find a way to make our life hard… I know it's my fault, I'm taking all the blame because if they are on to me now it's for what I did in the past. But… I can't… I can't erase what I did and you know it…"

She looks down, and for a moment she doesn't know what to say… "I'm… I'm just tired…"

"I think we need a holiday…" Peter suggests.

"Wasn't Hawaii exactly that?" She asks, confused, but she smiles, and it's a beginning.

"I mean… with no relatives in tow… only us…" He says, as he leans close and circles her waist. "Where would you like to go?"

She thinks for a moment. She thinks about all the places they always wanted to visit but never did. Because they had no money. Because then came Zach. Because then came Grace. Then everything started to whirl round and round. And before they knew it, half of their dreams were gone. Still, in all those places, there is a picture in her mind that slowly makes its way vehemently among others… it's not new but she can't get rid of it… "I don't want to go anywhere new…"

Peter shrugs. "Then?"

"Remember that small inn in Lake Forest?" She asks. And for a moment she fears that he can't remember.

"How could I forget it?" he says, bursting into laughter. "It was our first holiday together and we barely had the money for the check!"

Her tears mix with laughter as she remembers how desperate they were back then. Such a long road they've come. "That's where I want to go…" She says with a decided nod.

Peter smiles softly. "I think it's an excellent choice…" He leans closer, placing a delicate kiss on her lips.

_Yes… an excellent one._


	2. Of Wild Roses (Alicia & Will)

_§ Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense §_

_Mark Overby_

A quick glance at the clock tells Will that it's already a few minutes before 2:00 p.m. Sitting in his office, he's waiting to meet Peter's new in-house ethics advisor. He's not quite sure of what she needs from him exactly. She mentioned Peter's governorship and the recent campaign to which his answer had been a decided no. But that woman certainly knows her stuff. Her discreet mention about the fraudulent votes made him change his mind. And now here he is, waiting for her to show up at his door. The voice on the phone sounded young and very resolute, but for some reason he expects an ethics advisor to look somewhat like Diane. Actually, his partner would resemble a perfect ethics model.

His phone rings and his secretary announces that his 2:00 o'clock appointment is there. "Let her in." And when a young, blond woman, probably in her thirties, knocks at his glass door, he's a bit more than just surprised. He's staggered, taken completely aback in front of the unexpected and rather appealing appearance.

At his silent, gestured invitation, the woman walks in. "Mr. Gardner, thank you for accepting to meet with me," she greets him with a sweet and clear voice. Blond, certainly confident, a self-assured, decided approach and an exuberance, - not to mention an exposed décolleté - that he finds slightly excessive for an ethics advisor but that's none of his business.

"You're welcome," he offers with a set smile as he invites her to take a seat in front of him. "So, what's so important that you want to discuss it with me?" he asks her, eager to make this meeting the shortest possible. Peter Florrick is quite certainly not his favorite topic for discussion.

"I'd love to get a sort of outline of the situation first," she starts.

"Sure," he agrees, opening his hands in front of him in a sign of openness. But he has no idea what kind of situation she needs to make clear.

"What kind of relationship do you have with Mr. Florrick?" she asks, rather matter-of-factly. And the basis for a revolting conversation is already set.

Still, he plays his best poker-face to conceal his loathing. "None," he states, trying to appear emotionless. He can't bring himself to trust someone who works under Peter Florrick. Not even when her job position comprises the word  _ethics_.

"You worked with his wife for four years and you never had any kind of relationship with him?" she asks.

She seems bewildered, but his instinct suggests to him that it might be a well-acted set-up. So he chooses to come clean. "Let's make something clear, Miss….?"

"Marilyn."

"Marilyn… You told me over the phone that you wanted to talk about the campaign and the… fraudulent votes. Let's stick to that, shall we?" he invites her with no fake courtesies.

She nods and smirks.

A smirk that tells him that she's not over it. The woman is tough beyond expectations.

"Okay, I got it… I sense some bad blood… so I guess the rumors that you slept with his wife are true…" She assumes, with a knowing look.

He freezes. He doesn't know if he's more taken aback by her bluntness or by the fact that she knows. But one thing he knows, it's that for him this conversation is over. "Marilyn, it was a pleasure to meet you," he says as he stands up and walks to the door, opening it as a tacit, yet eloquent invitation to leave.

An invitation that she doesn't seem willing to accept. "Mr. Gardner, I take care of Mr. Florrick's image," she says seriously, as she stands up too and walks a few steps towards him, her arms folded in front of her and a gaze that speaks annoyance.

"Good luck with that, then," he mocks her.  _You're gonna need it_. But she doesn't move. He opens the door wider in case she missed the message, and when she casts an uninteresting sidelong glance at the door but still doesn't move, Will's annoyance increases to meet her own.

"My job is to ensure that the gubernatorial office is run with the highest possible integrity, honesty and ethics," she explains, quite emphatically.

All those words have a striding echo in his mind.

"We are not talking about the State's Attorney anymore, above him there is only the presidency, I don't know if I'm making myself clear enough," she says with a sneering smirk.

"Yes, I remember very well the Clinton's scandal," he pays her back.

"What do you know of those votes?" she cuts him off, rather abruptly and not really kindly.

_Finally over all that shit._

"What will you do with this bit of information?" he answers with the same curt tone.

"It'll be absolutely confidential, but I need to know everything, even the smallest sins, to get my job done in the best way. Therefore I need complete honesty," she makes clear. But this time, her arrogant tone is gone, replaced now by what sounds like a more humble one.

_Now we can finally talk._

Will closes the door behind him and sits back. "There is a video," he says, almost whispering.

"Which video?"

He doesn't know whether she's bluffing or Peter really didn't share the bit of information that stains his  _clean_  office. He can't seem to read this woman.

"Jim Moody supervising two guys removing a ballot box from a truck on election day," he spits it out.

Suddenly the atmosphere is tense. Marilyn looks down for a moment, broodingly, probably thinking that right now she'd pay to work for someone else.

"How did you get it?" She sits back, and looks serious, actually a bit worried for the first time since she walked in.

"The minimart across from the polling place… It's the  _only_  copy…"

"How many votes are we talking about here?" she asks.

He takes a moment before answering. He finds it amusing to play cat and mouse with this woman. And it's a good payoff for her intrusion in his private life. "30,000 in favor of Peter Florrick," he finally says.

He catches a glimpse of a grimace. It lasts a moment. She's back in control before she probably realizes herself that she actually grimaced. "He would have won anyway," she shrugs.

He nods and smiles. "I'm sure his supporters would agree if they knew," he agrees, ironically.

"Who has the video?" From her tone, it's more than clear that she doesn't find it funny at all.

"It's confidential." He sits back, folds his arms on his chest and waits.

"Mr. Gardner, you are not helping me."

"It's in safe hands," he gives away. That's all he needs to say. They both know he's the one storing the incriminating media.

"What do you intend to do with it?" A raised brow, her voice seems quiet.

He was somewhat expecting her to be more nervous at the news that she could need a new job soon if the tape were released.

"Nothing," he says, impassive.

And it's the truth.

At least it was.

Lately he finds himself questioning a lot of the choices he made. Is he still so eager to protect Alicia's feelings after what she did to him and to themselves? His anger and his love for her had been engaged in a no-holds-barred fight ever since she left. Ever since she promised they'd talk but never did. Does he still owe her such a demonstration of respect and affection? Should he judge by her actions, quite surely no. He's still aching. He thought that loving her was painful but he's realizing that hating her is even worse. He's forcing himself into feeling something for her that's completely new to him. He never hated Alicia in his whole life and it pains him to do it now. It feels against nature but it's all he can offer her now that he's left with nothing else. Anger. Hate. Disappointment.

Still, he can't get rid of the image of her in his car on election night. If her wet eyes and her trembling voice weren't a figment of his imagination, if the bruised yet guilty look she gave him in court only a few days before weren't an act – and Alicia's eyes are unable to lie - he knows that she's probably aching too. And that's enough suffering.

"I'd like to watch it," Marilyn says, pulling him out of his musings.

He ponders for a moment if he should accept or not. In the end, will it make any difference? "I can grant that to you…. But the video remains in my hands," he sets her straight.

Marilyn nods.  _Deal._  But then she stares at him, questioningly. Something's bugging her, he doesn't know what.

"Why didn't you use it when you had the chance?" she asks, almost softly, which takes Will slightly aback. He's not sure if it's genuine interest or just a trick to make him confess something he'd rather keep to himself.

He considers the best answer. He considers a good lie. But in the end he knows that lying is pointless. Peter knows the reason behind his cowardice. "I didn't want to hurt people who didn't deserve it." But as he admits it, he can't bring himself to stare into that woman's eyes. He's already giving away too much with words. Let's keep his innermost being where it's supposed to be.

"So, they are true? The rumors?" She asks, tentatively. Her insecure voice shows that she doesn't know how far she can go.

But Will knows perfectly. "Why don't you ask Mr. Florrick? Or his wife? You can find her at her new firm, I guess," he says, then stands up and looks away for a moment.

"So much bitterness."

"I don't know what you are talking about," he says as he walks up to the door and opens it.

"Sure," she nods and smiles.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Marilyn," he stretches his hand to shake hers.

"For me too, Mr. Gardner," she says with a polite smile, then shakes his hand. "And by the way… pictures don't do you justice…you are much more charming in the flesh," she smirks.

_Nice attempt._

"The video remains where it is," he says very kindly.

"I tried," Marilyn smirks, then shrugs.

Will laughs. In the end, she is not that bad. "Send my greetings to the Governor and his wife," he tells her as she's halfway through the door, then he follows her out.

"I'll make sure to do it," she says with a nod. And from her knowing look and amused smile, she clearly caught all the irony in his request.

He stares at the woman for a moment as she walks away, then closes the door behind him and checks his wristwatch; he has a staff meeting in ten minutes. He has walked only a couple of steps when he spots a way too familiar figure and his body suddenly freezes.  _What is Alicia doing here?_

She must sense his sudden discomfort, or she feels enough of it herself, because she looks down and away, then starts to walk down the hallway and likely towards the elevators. _Damn_.

He doesn't know what crosses his mind in that moment. Folly, thoughtlessness, the need of something he can't define. He just rushes down the hallway in a race against time, praying that the elevator for once doesn't play one of its nasty tricks on him. If it weren't for the twenty-eight floors up and down every day, he'd gladly get rid of that big metal box. And there he finds her. Her back to him, she's tapping her foot nervously on the floor, staring at the number 25 that flashes above the closed doors.

He walks up and stops beside her. For a moment they both remain silent, neither of them attempt to acknowledge the other's proximity.

_26_

"Hey," Will says eventually, his gaze still fixed high on the numbers.

"Hey." Alicia's expressionless look is betrayed by the light quivering in her voice.

_27_

"Some civil case?" he asks randomly. And rather stupidly, because he can't picture any other reason for her to be here. Not now that she has her own firm. She's not one of his associates, or partners – in any sense of the word – anymore. When she comes here, it's now as a nemesis.

She just nods, apparently unwilling to make conversation. "A divorce case," she finally says.

_28_

The elevator dings and the doors open in front of them. Alicia steps in quickly and he doesn't think twice. He follows her in. After all, he still has time. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she presses the ground floor button then shifts her gaze to the floor, closing herself in the silence.

"So, how are you doing?" he asks in the lamest attempt at a conversation that humankind has ever witnessed. But at least he gets her to look up and at him for a moment, even if their eyes don't meet, for her gaze doesn't move higher than the knot in his tie.

"I'm fine… adjusting..." She answers.

And he's not sure if she's referring to the new firm, to Peter's career or to coping with her choice to go cold turkey. Anyway he knows her well enough to know that she's not completely fine but he doesn't venture so far as to ask her why. He doesn't want to know, so he simply nods and looks back in front of him.

_25_

What  _did_  cross his mind when he decided to step into the elevator? He's cursing himself for being so weak.

"I saw… I saw that Marilyn was here…" She mentions, randomly, nonchalantly in appearance.

But with Alicia nothing ever is random or nonchalant. And the way she pronounces Marilyn's name leaks some kind of annoyance, or discomfort.

"We had a meeting." And he's careful not to disclose any detail, because quite certainly Alicia has no clue of Peter's involvement in the electoral fraud.

She seems surprised, a bit puzzled. And he can't really blame her; until half an hour ago he had no idea why that woman wanted to meet him.

_22_

This is the longest elevator ride ever. Only once in his life he had been equally eager to reach the destination quickly and for his quite lively memory he remembers that the reasons were completely different.

He catches her opening her mouth a few times, but failing – or refusing – to say a word. The thought crosses his mind that she might give in to the curiosity and ask for the reasons behind that meeting. And before he can come up with an excuse, words flow independently. "We are dating."

He has no idea where this comes from, but right now he thinks it's better than her asking him why Marilyn came to see him. It's a white lie. And all things considered, letting her know that he's not on the market anymore, that he's not pining for her anymore, it can't do any harm.

"Oh." A vowel seems to be only thing she can say. She nods. Her gaze fixed in front of her, she's clearly taken aback. "Okay."

 _Okay. Yes_. She looks all but okay. "I thought you wanted to know," he adds, gravely.

"It's okay," she repeats, giving him a half-smile.

"I mean. You should be happy." He shrugs, turns to face her but she still doesn't look back. It's like she's deliberately avoiding his gaze. "Isn't that what you wanted? That we both would move on?" he insists a bit. He loathes when he can't look into her eyes. It would be so much easier if she would look at him, at least for an instant.

"Yes I said it," she nods.

"That's what I'm doing. I'm moving on," he states, firmly, hoping his voice doesn't betray his lie.

"Good," she repeats, her nod more decided.

Who is she really trying to convince? Him or herself?

"Good," he repeats in turn.

And the chilling, deafening silence fills again the suddenly way too narrow space. They are not even halfway down and he has already regretted taking the ride at least three times.

_18_

He considers pressing a button, any, just so he stops this agony. But as he stares at the call buttons, his body doesn't seem to agree, and his intention remains just that.

"I guess that means you'll be around… often…" Alicia hints.

Damn. How did it dawn on him to come up with such a stupid lie? She will unmask him before they reach the ground floor.

"It's possible."

_15_

"So how does being the first lady of Illinois feel?" he asks. Diverting the attention on her sounds like a good idea. Maybe she'll forget about his  _date_. Or maybe she takes the question in the wrong way and what remains of this ride is bound to become a real nightmare.

"Exactly like being Mrs. State's Attorney, just more people trying to use you…" She looks serious, but there is no trace of annoyance in her voice.

And he can't help but laugh. "Nice."

She nods amused. For a moment the atmosphere seems a bit more relaxed. And the silence that falls inevitably back between them is a little more bearable now.

_12_

"I'm sorry." Alicia's words come out as barely whispered.

It takes him a while to realize that he has no idea what she's sorry for. Not that she lacks in reasons. Actually there are plenty of them and he has no clue which one she's sorry for right now. She betrayed him in every possible way, personally and professionally, that even if she now apologizes for one of them she still would need the rest of her life to make amends for all the others.

"For what?" he asks, tentatively.

"For choosing the easy way out…"

His face clouds and he swallows at the uncomfortable admission of guilt. This is a conversation he doesn't want to have. "You made the right choice," he stops her.

And finally, for the first time since they trapped themselves in there, Alicia gazes straight at him. "What do you mean?" She sounds hurt, more than confused and inwardly he laughs ironically at what he sees as nonsense. He should be the one hurt, not her.

He feels himself tensing and strives to remain cold and detached. "You were right. We kept on keeping each other on a tight rein. Now I know that what I needed was to have you out of my life," he says calmly. To keep at bay the memory of how he had felt to hear her say those things months before, during the gala dinner, is one of the hardest things he has ever dealt with. He knows he's probably sounding rude. But the can is open and there is no way to close it again now.

"That is mean," she whispers.

"It's the truth."

He knows he's trembling. He can feel his muscles contract as all the anger resurfaces, menacing to flood. He breathes deeply, trying to regain control of his nerves. He doesn't want a fight. He suddenly doesn't want to talk at all.

_7_

But the broken promise, the stolen chance for a try, or for a solution contrived together have the upper hand. "A talk, Alicia… it was all I was asking for." He knows that his low voice is not hiding his inner turmoil.

"We talked."

"No we didn't." He can't look at her. "To come to me and tell me that you were burning down every bridge between us is  _not_  talking!"  _Goodbye to staying calm_. He should have taken the chance to leave when he could. It was so simple. One button pressed and he was out. But he didn't and the shock he reads in Alicia's eyes doesn't make it any better.

"What difference would it make if I had told you before?" Her arms wide open in plain disbelief, her whole body turns to face him. She steps closer but she probably doesn't realize how close they are.

"It would make the difference of me not hating you!" He raises his voice. He's aware of his angry tone but still tries to keep his cool.

"Maybe I wanted you to hate me!" Her peeved voice resounds in the small cabin.

_I wanted you to hate me._

Suddenly, everything looks clear. "Well, congratulations then, mission accomplished…"

He takes a step away, instinctively, and leans back against the elevator wall. It's the most distant he can physically get from her now and it's far from being enough. Even different planets would still be too close. And he looks, silently, as Alicia does the same, leaning against the opposite wall. Mixed, rambling thoughts of hate, regret, pain, sadness and nostalgia crowd his mind, clashing chaotically against each other. The outburst moment gone, he's left wondering what he really feels in the end. He doesn't know. Gazes down on the floor, they throw discreet, guarded glances at each other, probably trying to define where they stand now. As for him, he can only think that  _hate_  is never a good feeling. The closest they got to hating each other in the past, was the moment their true feelings breached through that single, narrow opening they were given. Hatred is nothing more than a weakness. The most insidious one.

"Then why are you here?" she finally asks, sounding defeated. Maybe she has just come to the same conclusion. Maybe she's still trying to deal with the revelation that he hates her.

 _Maybe I wanted you to hate me._  How do you deal with knowing you succeeded in getting yourself hated? Does it feel good? He's tempted to ask her but instead he shakes his head and chooses to keep it to himself. He doesn't need an answer anyway; her suffering gaze speaks for her.

At the same time, he doesn't have an answer for her question. Why is he here? No good answer comes that won't bare his heart in front of her. He's done with that. He's done with making a fool of himself when clearly there is nothing in return. Besides, he has the need to feel hated.

"Because I still wanted to believe that you had other motives for leaving me. Now I know that I was wrong." His cold voice marks the end of the match.

Alicia looks down. There is really nothing more left to say.

_1_

The doors open with a ding and Alicia hastens to step out of their cage. It's almost a relief when all the tension, the enmity and the pugnacious upheaval finally blows out together with her.

He watches, not a single word, as she stops right beyond the doors and looks back at him.

"Are you really dating her?" she asks him, with the same cold tone he gave her only a couple of floors before.

He thinks for a moment. Maybe he should come clean after all. Eventually she'll find out anyway that it was just a lie. "Yes…"

She doesn't say anything. Neither does he. He just stays there, watching her leave as the doors close between them.

* * *

She's making the biggest mistake of her life, the most stupid and reckless imprudence she will ever be capable of. Still, here she is in front of his door. She hopes he's not home, she hopes that if he is, he doesn't open or doesn't hear the doorbell ringing. So she can say that she tried and blame the bad timing for the failed attempt. After all, isn't that what Will always does? That should be enough to warrant her the right to do the same. And it's easier to blame something intangible than someone real for it can't fight you back.

But when she finally makes up her mind and presses the doorbell, she distinctly hears his voice and his unmistakable laughter beyond the closed door. And she suddenly regrets coming. Now she knows with certainty that he's home. And the steps approaching confirm that he heard the doorbell too. Her only hope left is that he chooses not to open. But probably distracted by someone – is he on the phone? or is there someone else in his apartment? – he doesn't even check through the peephole. The door unlocks and opens in front of her before she can finish her prayers.

She sees him freeze, his smile turning into a tense grimace and his gaze that shifts to cold tells her that she's clearly not welcome. Or at least very unexpected.

"I'll call you back," he says over the phone.

_Again that silence._

She used to love their silences. They were always brightened up by soft smiles, stolen glances, even a delicate, discreet endearment when the circumstances allowed it. She realizes now how much she misses those voiceless moments.

For an instant, she thinks he might slam the door closed in her face. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. But when he steps aside and frees the way for her into his apartment, she knows that it's going to be the longest night ever. But she takes his invitation, and with some hesitancy, she walks in. As she becomes aware of the once familiar surroundings, she has to close her eyes to chase away the memories that try vehemently to break through. When she opens them again, she sees Will staring at her, questioningly. She's the one who came after all. But all the speeches she has prepared, all the tit-for-tat she has figured, now sound vain.

She looks down, unable to find the right words to start. "I…"

 _Maybe I wanted you to hate me._  Did she really say that? That harsh exchange has been on the back of her mind for the whole day. She tried to distract herself in every possible way, until she had come to the conclusion that the only way to get over it is to try and talk things out with him. But now she's doubting her choice. "I don't want you to hate me," she whispers. It's probably the most honest thing she has said in months.

"Isn't it a bit too late for that?" His tone is still cold and adverse but she catches the pain in his eyes.

"You left me no choice!"

And in a sense, it is the truth. She still remembers the panic of feeling cornered. She still remembers his resolution. It was the first time she saw him so decided, so eager to go in whole hog and it scared her to see him trying to take control at the most ill-timed moment.

"You had a choice!  _We_  had a choice!" He screams his frustration, as he starts to pace nervously back and forth across his living room.

"You make everything sound so easy but it's not!" She screams back, exasperated. Why is it so difficult for him to understand? "You're not the one who's been haunted by the press for months, you're not the one who has two teenagers to shield when everything falls apart. You've always had to answer to yourself alone!" She explains, as her gaze chases him all over the room.

"And you're not the one who put years of hard-earned career moves at stake only for a chance to be with you!" Will retorts with clear anger, finally stopping in front of her.

She watches him in shock. For a moment words fail her.  _For a chance to be with you…_  To hear him say it out loud gives to those words a meaning, a depth that she can't pretend to ignore.

"Don't blame me for that, you are the one who always locked me out of your life…" But his tone is softer now.

She doesn't know if he caught her sudden hesitation, or if he's just resigned, maybe thinking that for him there will never be a place in her life.

"It's always been you to make decisions for both of us, Alicia. And it's been you to decide that getting me to hate you was the best option."

"And it was!"

"Then why are you here?" Will's unbelieving, confused look is the sign that it's time to lay all the cards on the table.

One in particular that has been bugging her…

"And why did you lie?" she asks, seriously.

Will seems taken aback.

She's not sure whether he's really oblivious or he's just pretending. "Lie about what?"

She stares into his eyes but can't read him. "About dating Marilyn…"

But the answer to the question is an uncomfortable, tense silence.

"Aren't you a bit curious to know how I know?" She looks at him, defiantly.

But Will doesn't answer, his gaze is fixed on her and he looks defeated.

"Marilyn and Peter have a relationship, they have for a few weeks now," she tells him.

She catches a glimpse of something that seems surprise but she's not sure. One thing is clear, he didn't know. Not that the bit of news is of public knowledge anyway. She and Peter had started the divorce's proceedings only a few days ago.

Will nods in acknowledgement. "So that's why you are here? To search for some comfort in me?"

 _Comfort?_  She shakes her head, then bursts into an ironic laugh at how he's taken it all wrong. "That's what you think? That I'm here for some… for some comfort sex?" Her smile disappears, leaving place for a bitter disbelief. How can he even think that? "I was the one to encourage him to move on, because I know that she'll be able to give him something that I can't give him anymore…"

And she's not lying. The moment Peter had admitted he had feelings for another woman had been at the same time a blow and a relief. It was the confirmation that they had both put a lot of effort in trying to save a marriage that couldn't be saved.

"I did all I could to keep my family together, Will… I really thought that I could… that I could go back to my old life if I didn't have to fight my feelings for you every single day… but when Peter told me that he had fallen in love with someone, I realized that we were just… hurting each other…" She exhales deeply. It's soothing to finally let it all out. It's a load off her mind to finally admit what she's been constantly struggling to deny for quite a few years now.

Her eyes fixed into Will's, he seems musing, probably working to take in everything she has just said. And she can't blame him if he has a hard time to grasp it all.

"I guess… I guess that this is why I came here tonight," she admits, "and if you still want to hate me, I will understand it… You have every right…"

His silence is becoming unnerving. Eventually, he looks down, sighs deeply, then looks up and back at her. His softer gaze discloses that he's probably letting his guard down.

And in a moment of boldness – or weakness? – she knows that she has to take the chance. She leans forward, craving for his lips. But when she's only a few inches away, Will's hand moves to put some distance between them. She's caught off guard, and stares at him with confusion.

"Don't do this if you don't really mean it…" His tone seems soft but the meaning behind these words is not. It's a plea for a choice that so far she wisely – or cowardly - refused to make.

She looks down, pensively. She knows what she wants, or she wouldn't be here. But does Will know it too? Does he  _really_  know it? Maybe what she has confessed moments before led him to feel like a sort of surrogate, like the replacement of a life she's just saying goodbye to. And she doesn't want that. She realizes that this is the wrong moment to start things again. She can't bring herself to look up, unwilling to meet his gaze. She takes a step back and turns to leave. She needs to get out of here before she rethinks it.

_Too late._

Her hand is already on the knob, holding it tightly, when the realization hits her that if she leaves now she might not have another chance. How many more chances can she expect Will to give her? How much pain did she cause him? And how much pain did she cause to herself? The tears the day she broke up with him are still burning in her memory, and so are the pulled-back tears on election night. She can't leave. She can't leave him.

_Don't do it if you don't really mean it…_

If there's one thing she's sure of, is that she means it. And she wants him to know it. So, as she walks back down the foyer and close to him, she looks up with confidence, her eyes into his. She wants him to read all her determination, she wants him to know that she won't have second thoughts, that she won't leave, that she won't get tired of him in one month, or in one year. "I mean it…" Her voice is a bare whisper but she's sure that he heard her. She can read the relief in his eyes, and the relief turning into passion as he leans forward to meet her lips halfway.

She doesn't give him the chance to retreat. She holds him tight and straightens up, silently inviting him to take her into his arms. And when he does, she already knows that the old feelings are still there. Within seconds, she's already landing softly on his bed. She takes a moment to look around. It seems an eternity since she's been here since the last time, she has missed this so much. She smiles sweetly at him before finally enjoying the bliss of the missed intimacy.


	3. Love is also the result of an accident in the dream of our life (Peter & Marilyn)

* * *

" _No matter how hard it is, love is also the result of an accident in the dream of our life, and that accident is an event that happens in our soul."_  


_Sorin Cerin_

* * *

The umpteenth late night spent in the office. For Peter it seems to have become a habit lately. Being the Governor of Illinois has its pros and cons. Scotch in hand, he paced impatiently back and forth. Marilyn was supposed to be here more than an hour ago to take stock of the situation after the late morning's staff meeting, but she called in to warn that she was going to be late, stuck at a dinner. He didn't know with who. Peter was annoyed. That she's late, that he's stuck here alone. That the glass in his hand is now empty and so is the bottle of scotch on his desk, and he can't seem to find another one.

For a moment he considers calling Alicia, maybe if he keeps his mind distracted for a moment he'll stop spinning in edginess. But she's probably still stuck in her office as well. She's been working so much since she started her own firm and most of the time comes home in a bundle of nerves. Lockhart & Gardner are giving her and Cary a hard time – not unexpectedly, if he has to be honest, – still he can't help but feel that behind that tension there must be more than just that; he just can't figure out what. How do you handle or help someone that answers your attempts of help with  _It's nothing_? All he knows is that the feeling that something's cracking won't leave him. Maybe it's his fault, maybe he's working too much and she adapted. Or maybe it's the other way around? He can't remember how it started and which one of them started it. He sighs and shakes his head to push the apprehension away. He needs the damn scotch!

He opens the cupboard's doors wide and starts to take out all that's inside. Provisions for everything possible. Snacks, chips, drinks of every kind, except the fucking scotch. He's getting pissed as he places everything on his desk till the cupboard is almost empty. And there it is. Hiding in a corner stands his craved liquid. He takes it out and raises the bottle triumphantly.

"Are you giving a party?"

Peter jumps, heart in his throat, like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar. He turns to meet the shrilling, young voice that nearly caused him a heart attack. And he freezes in astounding amazement. He's used to her not really  _ethical_  outfits. They were a bit distracting in the beginning, but over the few months they have been working together he has learned to overlook them. He has learned that behind his advisor's appeal there is a very smart mind. Her naturally contagious enthusiasm and the palpable passion she puts into her work make the late working hours more bearable, even enjoyable. But tonight she's different. With a nice turquoise dress that brings out her eyes even in the semi-darkness of the room, she looks like she just came out from some 50's movie.

"Sorry for being so late, my friend's baby shower went on longer than expected," she apologizes, still standing in the doorway. And judging by her amused expression, she must have caught his spellbound gaze.

"No, it's fine," he hurries to reassure her, "I got some work done in the meantime." He lies with a wide smile. What the hell is he doing? He was downright pissed until less than a minute ago. But her eyes, pleading for forgiveness, are melting him. Or maybe it's the effect of the scotch?

"Yes, I see it," she laughs, pointing at the chaotic display of snacks and drinks, as she walks a few steps in and lays her purse and a blue cardboard dossier on the sofa. "Learning a second job if the governorship fails?" she teases him.

"One can never know," he shrugs, amused. "The bar is open, something to drink?" he offers, jokingly.

She laughs softly and shrugs. "A soda?"

_Please let there be some soda among all_ _these_ _drinks._

He reads all the tags frantically as he puts everything back in its place, and when he finds it, he's satisfied. "Soda coming up for my ethics advisor," he says, as he fills a glass, then hands it to Marilyn.

"Thank you," she accepts it with smiling eyes.

Peter watches as she walks back to the sofa, takes the dossier and moves to take a seat on the couch, with her usual upfront elegance and confident posture.

"I guess we should get some work done," she observes.

And Peter is snapped back to the reality that it's late and they actually have a lot of work to do. "Of course," he agrees as he takes a seat next to her. "You mentioned something about courses earlier today, right?"

"Yes," she nods, then places her glass of soda on the small table in front of them. "Employees' ethics courses to be more specific. The Springfield departments are in order but Chicago's…" She shakes her head and gives him that look of disappointment he has come to know very well over the last few months. "It has been sort of left behind…"

He sighs and rubs his face in frustration. "Which departments?"

"Department of Children and Family Services had the last one four years ago, same goes for Financial and Professional Regulation," she says gravely. "Some of the employees never had a course at all. And this is for the departments located in the James R. Thompson Center."

"I'm not sure if I wanna know about the others," he cringes. He knows close to nothing about this aspect of politics, Eli always took care of everything, including the coordination of the ethics board.

"I'm pretty sure you don't wanna know, but it has to be done," she admonishes him.

"Okay," he nods, "draw up a draft of the program with the estimate costs for next Monday morning. I'll ask my secretary to fix an appointment with you for 10 o'clock so we can discuss the details together."

"Of course," she agrees decidedly.

"What else?" he asks, quickly skimming the paper in front of Marilyn.

"You should visit Springfield's offices more often," she says with a light reproach in her voice.

"I know," Peter sighs. "Eli told me the same."

"Eli is a great right-hand man," she agrees. "At least twice a month. I've been there, the general feeling is not the best, they fear having a Chicago-based Governor so you need to have a bigger presence there."

"I can do it," he smiles lightly.

"Of course you can, you are doing an excellent job so far!" She encourages him with enthusiasm as her left hand goes to rest on his forearm in an innocent, friendly gesture. It's a moment. So quickly as she touches him, even faster she retreats from that contact.

Peter smiles and watches her hand moving away from him and on her lap. Her words have a pleasurable echo in his ears.  _You are doing an excellent_ _job_ _so far_. It feels good to have someone to support him and to cheer him up. It feels good to have someone that now and then reminds him that being the Governor is not just responsibilities and duties but also the satisfaction of being told that he's doing it right. And Marilyn is not only a great ethics advisor but also a unique supporter. He realizes in that moment that this is exactly what's been missing in his life lately. "Thank you," he says softly. There's not much he can add and he doesn't like false modesty anyway. He's just grateful that she seems to truly appreciate his commitment. Their gazes meet for a brief moment. There is something in her crystalline eyes that draws him in, in a way he can't explain or understand. But he knows that he has to look away right now. And so he does. "What's next on your list?" He hastens to ask, interrupting the moment before it becomes more awkward than it already is.

Marilyn seems caught a bit off guard. "What? Oh, right, the list," she says, shifting her gaze to the paper in front of her. She clears her throat, probably to dissipate the bit of embarrassment that suddenly filled the office. "You might have a problem with the Department of Transportation, I have to go further into checking but the lack of cooperation from the local advisor could be an alarm bell."

Peter nods seriously. "The Department of Transportation doesn't worry me, but it's better to be safe than to be sorry. What can we do?" He asks, glancing around and back at the paper.

"Nothing right now, I need to gather more information but I'll keep you up to date," she informs him, her gaze shifting from the paper to the space in front of her, in a nervous up and down.

"Good," Peter nods, then finally finds the courage to stare back at her.

"Good," Marilyn repeats, as she looks up and at him.

The sudden silence is embarrassing and rather uncomfortable. Peter struggles to come up with something to say quickly but all he can think of is a compliment and he's not sure it's the best idea. Maybe it will just make things worse. But anything's better than sitting here staring at her like a perfect idiot. "You are doing a great job by the way," he finally forces himself to say.

And Marilyn's sweet smile is not making it any easier. "Thank you."

"I really mean it," he persists. And he's sure that he's making himself miserable but the damage is done. Suddenly he's unable to unlock his eyes from hers. And the way she's looking back at him is a way she shouldn't be. Certainly not in her position. "I like working with you. It feels… natural…" Words flow independently before he can think them. He has no idea what he's doing, though he knows perfectly what he should do instead; stand up from that couch and put some distance between him and this woman.

"I like working with you too," she returns the compliment, with some hesitation. She suddenly seems nervous.

And Peter might be blind on many things but Marilyn's eyes are crystal clear, transparent and straight like her morals. He knows that she's probably fighting with her conscience to not lean closer. Her eyes are fixed on him, studying his features, but she doesn't dare to move. Confident that she might feel the same attraction, he's the one who eventually finds the audacity to lean closer and place his lips on hers.

A tingle runs through his body and down his back as he feels her soft mouth. For a brief moment she doesn't move and he thinks she's going to pull back. Her lips are slightly trembling and he's surprised when she doesn't pull back. Instead, she seems to slowly give in to the kiss that, chaste at first, turns deep, passionate, almost overwhelming.

_This can't happen._

Peter pulls away all of a sudden. His eyes still closed, he feels the pressure on the couch change and he opens them to see her jumping up and as far as she can from him. He wonders if Marilyn felt the same thrilling shivers.

She's shaking her head, repeatedly, eyes closed, as if trying to erase what just happened between them.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, looking down and away, as if she's apologizing to herself.

And he doesn't know for what. He's the one who started it. He's the one who should apologize. For kissing her. For making her so shaken and upset. For being so weak. "No, I… I am the one to be sorry…" He says in an attempt to share the guilt.

His voice must pull her back from wherever her mind is wandering right now, for she opens her eyes and stares at him, with an unbelieving look. Her mouth open, she looks like she's trying to say something but obviously failing. "I… I think… we are done… here…" She finally manages to jabber.

Peter nods but can't bring himself to look at her as she gathers her things and leaves in a hurry. He looks away, his gaze safely fixed on the bare brownish wall in front of him. He doesn't even know if they discussed everything that was on the agenda. His mind is busy trying to work out what has just happened and what it means; for him, for Marilyn. Maybe he just imagined everything. Maybe he misread her eyes and caught feelings that didn't exist. And even if they do, he knows that what happened is wrong. It was never supposed to happen in the first place. He glances around, disoriented. He should go home. He should  _already_  be home by now. He curses himself and does the only reasonable and sane thing he can do now. Go back to his wife.

For the next five days that separate him from the Monday meeting with Marilyn, he tries to keep his mind busy in every possible way. Pointlessly. Because how can you prevent your mind from trying to shine a light on something you strive to understand? It's the greatest paradox.

Lying awake in his bed on Sunday night, he turns to look at Alicia in the darkness. She seems so peaceful in her sleep. Such a painful contrast with how she appears most of the days. He caresses her arm with delicacy, careful not to wake her and she stiffens a bit in her sleep. Why does everything suddenly look so intricate and confused? The only clear thing is that he can't confess what happened to her. No way. Things between them are already fracturing and he can't risk making the crack irreparable. But at the same time, he can't help but review the last few years of their marriage and with a hint of sadness he has to admit that in the end, he's the one who put the most hope, effort and commitment in the rebuilding of their relationship. Does that mean something?

Maybe the kiss with Marilyn didn't mean anything, maybe he was just projecting on her some kind of concealed shortcoming. The mind can be treacherously deceitful sometimes and so can the heart. His thoughts alight on Marilyn. He wonders if she has spent the last days in his same state of upset confusion and guilt. In a few hours they are supposed to meet at his office and he doesn't know how he should behave. Is he supposed to pretend nothing happened? Is he even capable of doing that in the first place? His past affairs taught him to keep guilt at bay, but for some reason this time it seems different. He feels it  _is_  different. And their professional connection only adds to the mayhem. He should try and stay objective, very objective, professional and detached. It's his only solution. He turns on his side and lets himself fall in to a restless sleep.

In the morning when Marilyn shows up at his office a good ten minutes in advance, he's not sure whether she's trying to make up for being late the previous night or just eager to get over the meeting and the inevitable awkwardness quickly. But he's having a hard time meeting her gaze and that's not his idea of being objective and professional. He clears his throat and forces himself to look straight in her eyes while appearing completely emotionless and indifferent.

"This is the draft for the courses with the estimate costs," she almost whispers, as she slips the paper on his desk, towards him, then quickly retreats her hand. "I considered to split the Financial and Professional Regulation Department into two separate courses because it's so large. The Department of Children and Family Services should be split for the same reason as well. And it would be better if you could… uhm… time your next Springfield's visit with one of them…"

"I'll check Eli's plans," he grumbles and nods. He goes carefully – at least he fakes well - through every single line, every single figure, as Marilyn watches in apparent quietness. Maybe a bit too quiet. The deathly silence is upsetting and stifling. "We should talk about it," he finally lets out with a deep sigh as he looks up at her.

"No we shouldn't," Marilyn whispers, sounding pleading yet resolute at the same time. Her gaze is still down on the paper on the desk.

"It was…." He starts, but his head shakes in frustration as words seem to fail. "We…"

" _We_ , Peter… there lies the trick. There is no such thing as  _we_ … You are married and I'm the woman who's supposed to help you run a clean office and this would be all but clean and certainly not ethical. That's why there can't be any  _we_." It's the first time since she walked into his office that she actually stares at him for more than a split second. Her features are grave, almost stand-offish, in sharp contrast with the plain hurt in her eyes as she adds, "It was only an accident."

_An accident_ … Was it really just that? An accident? But her words are painfully true. Whatever it is that happened – or didn't happen – between them, accident or not, it can't go beyond that brief kiss and it certainly can't leave these four walls. It would be a catastrophe. It would be a new scandal. Because if there is one thing the press is good at it is to frame up and exaggerate events. God only knows what they would make out of a fairly innocent kiss. The kiss. He feels the same tingle at the thought of how it felt to lay his lips on her soft red ones. "Maybe you are right," he agrees, defeated and floored by her indisputable language. Unable to hold her gaze anymore, he looks away and down, back at the paper. "I'll give the program to Eli, to check if we can arrange my visit on one of these days," he says as he stands up to make clear that the meeting is over.

Marilyn just nods and stands up too. He can't really say she looks relieved. He's unsure whether he should press her some more or just let her go. But a quick glance around reminds him that they are in his office. Not the most appropriate place, he has to admit. And the couch at his right plays an uncomfortable reminder.

He follows her across the room and towards the door to open it for her. The moment he places his hand on the knob, he realizes how dangerously close they are; only a few inches from Marilyn, his body leaps back instinctively. The sudden embarrassment engulfs every word or sound, even the imperceptible rhythm of their breathing. "Did I imagine everything?" he attempts.

"It doesn't matter," she answers, not moving from her stance.

Peter looks up and away. "It does for me," he persists gently.

"Give me a call when you settle on the day with Eli," she veers off, then looks down at his hand that's still holding the knob tightly.

His arm stretched, he opens the door to let her out and watches as she starts to walk, then stops in the doorway. Her gaze shifts nervously around, her mouth half open as if she wants to say something. But she doesn't. She looks down, turns around then leaves. And he's left there wondering if her lack of an answer is an answer indeed.

He closes the door between them and he's glad that he has no further meetings until 11 o'clock. He walks to the window and stares outside. What do you do when the woman you possibly have feelings for is the last woman you are allowed to have any kind of feeling for in the first place? Do you just let her go? Or do you do everything in your power to give those feelings a chance to grow? And what should he say to Alicia? Is there anything to say at all? In the end it was nothing more than a kiss. And all of the professional complications are a huge reason alone to let it go. The fact that he's Marilyn's boss – sort of – is the first reason of all. What would be the consequences for both of them?

Then he clouds…

_So this is how it feels to be on the other side?_

He sits back at his desk and buries his face in his hands in surrender. For the first time in his life, he doesn't know how to fix his mess. All he knows is that Marilyn's smile and voice keep haunting him, unabatedly.

* * *

Marilyn hears the door close behind her with a soft bang. Only when she's sure it's completely closed, she allows herself to pause and turn around. The last five days have been intense, from any perspective. To try and concentrate on her work and lock off any personal involvement is proving hard; it's something she had never experienced before and that was relatively manageable… until the kiss. She closes her eyes in anguish. It wasn't supposed to happen. She did the worst possible thing; she somewhat exposed feelings that were supposed to remain unspoken and unrequited. How did it happen? Where did her well-known professionalism go? She shakes her head, then turns and leaves. She has no idea how to get out of this mess. There is no easy way out of this. If he didn't have a family, if their careers weren't so precariously connected, if she wasn't working for him, _with_  him, so closely… Even one  _if_  alone would be one too many ifs.

She tries to avoid him for the next few days. She goes through his secretary or Eli when possible and she's quite sure Peter's doing the same, because she hasn't heard from him since their last meeting in his office. Not that she should be surprised after she has turned down his attempt to talk about it. But as she lies in her bed, she keeps staring at her cellphone in a vain attempt to make it vibrate. She's clearly not telepathic. She turns on to her side and looks at the empty half of her bed. She's used to being alone, even likes it most of the time. She never considered herself a family woman, she never felt the need of going home to a man waiting for her. But for some reason, she keeps staring at the well-pressed sheets and wonders…

_No._

There is something fundamentally wrong in all of this. The thought alone is already far too wrong.

The sudden vibration of her cellphone pulls her out of her musings and makes her jump in fright. Who can be calling so late? She quickly grabs the phone to make it stop and the reaction the name on the screen causes her is even worse than the one from the vibration. She keeps staring at the flashing screen, petrified. Her telepathic gift is clearly a bit out of sync. Her thumb lingers for a while on the green button, hesitantly.  _What are you doing?_  She cursed the phone for being mute and now that Peter calls, is she letting his call go unanswered? She shakes her head and finally presses before it's too late. "Hello…"

"Hey…" Peter's voice is low, and hoarse. She's missed its deep, ravishing sound. She wonders if he's home or still in his office.

"Hey," she whispers. There's nothing more she can say. And neither can Peter apparently, judging from the embarrassing silence. For the first time in days, they are not resorting to intermediaries.

She sits there in apparent quiet, waiting for him to speak. It takes him a couple of sighs, but eventually he seems to make up his mind. "I… I fixed the day for the meeting in Springfield with Eli."

_Oh. The meeting…_ What was she expecting?

"Okay…" She tries to swallow the light delusion. "When?"

"Next Thursday... To match one of the courses like you suggested," he answers toneless.

She nods and makes a mental note of the date. "It's perfect."

_It's perfect._

"Will you be there?" Peter's concerned tone doesn't hide some anxiousness.

She knows that they are not done talking, that Peter is not done talking. "Yes," she whispers.

But the moment she speaks that word, she knows she has her answer. She knows what to do.

The following Thursday she shows up in front of his secretary, knowing that Peter won't be in the office _. I need to leave a document on Mr. Florrick's desk_ , she says. And the secretary just smiles and gestures for her to make herself at home. She walks in, peeps around and smiles in light bitterness. Then she places the envelope on Peter's desk. Inside is her resignation letter with an enclosure; a few names she recommends as substitutes. Even if it was one of her briefest working experiences, she enjoyed every single moment of it, every single moment spent with him. She got to know that soft, sometimes vulnerable side that his electors or subordinates probably never knew and never will. She got to know his smart humor, his fine self-irony and his sometimes childlike enthusiasm; his iron hand, his immense passion, his combative frame of mind. It's everything she has ever appreciated in a man.

As she gives one last look to the envelope, she wonders if Peter will understand the meaning behind it. Will he let her go? Or take the occasion he's being given? She made her step, a huge and hard one. She can only hope her sacrifice won't get lost.


End file.
